New Yorkers Show

JOHN GROGAN Staff Columnist

Columnist The Light

When I made an off-the-cuff crack about the behavior of some New York transplants, I had no idea what I was up against.

Then the letters and phone calls started coming. And coming. And coming.

Now, a week later, I realize the old saying is true: Hell hath no fury like a New Yorker scorned. Or something like that.

I've undergone a bit of a mystic transformation this past week. Now I realize I was off base in maligning those who hail from the greatest city of them all. I now understand that New Yorkers are to South Florida what ancient Greeks were to Western Civilization.

Many callers and writers made that point, such as the man who told me: "Without the New Yorkers who moved here, [locals) wouldn't have bread to eat. The Floridians are animals they're not decent people."

When I told him I came from Michigan, he added: "The Detroiters are the worst people you meet down here. They have no manners."

He's right, I've decided, and that is why I want to divorce dumpy Detroit for that genteel yet spirited goddess, New York.

A bum rap for the Big Apple

When I made my regrettable comment, I didn't mean to indict only New York for the world's rudeness; I meant to include New Jersey and Philadelphia, too.

I have just unearthed compelling evidence that the notorious "Bronx Cheer" originated not in New York City, as widely believed, but in a cornfield several miles northwest of Ames, Iowa.

A bad rap, indeed.

I'm a changed man, and I'm here to tell you, just like the bumper sticker says, I love New York!

I love it so much that today I formally seek your blessing to be inducted as an honorary New Yorker. I'm willing to go so far as to root for the Yankees and the Mets that's how badly I want this.

Some of my best friends are from New York, including my father, who grew up in Queens, and my brother (he is obnoxious, by the way), who has called Manhattan home for the past 22 years.

Where else but the Big Apple? I've been visiting New York regularly since I was a teen-ager and am one of those people who think the Staten Island Ferry is the best bargain going. There are no hot dogs like those the vendors sell in front of the Met.

When I need a fix of urban excitement, I don't head to East St. Louis, I head to the East Village. And, of course, there is but one Broadway, but one Times Square.

Once while walking on 42nd Street - true story - I bumped into singer Carly Simon and was nearly plowed over by a fleeing robber all within a 90-second spread. Where else but the Big Apple?

The Amy and Joey saga? But where else? Who needs Babylon when you have Buttafuoco? Who needs beaches when you have the Central Park Reservoir?

New York, how much do I love thee?

So much that I would like to see an all-New York slate in the 1996 presidential election. Forget that Arkansas rube and his Tennessean sidekick. I say Ed Koch for president with Bernie Goetz as his running mate. Yoko Ono as secretary of state and George Steinbrenner as ambassador to the United Nations. Al Sharpton as attorney general and David Letterman as interior minister. Woody Allen... well, we'll see.

I love New York so much I'm one of the only people in this country who thinks Mayor Giuliani's incorrigible son, Andrew, is cute. The scrappy little rascal! I say Andrew for national poster child!

New Yorkers, you've gotta believe me, I've been transformed. Forgive me my trespasses, and please join with me now in shouting from the highest mountaintop: "Noo Yawk, you're the greatest!''